


the P.U.P

by Star_less



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Artistic License, Complete, Desperation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, NOT STARKER - Freeform, Non-Sexual, Not Beta Read, Omorashi, One Shot, Peter Parker needs to Pee, Rushed, Sort Of, This Isn't My Best Work, coaxed into peeing, peeing in the suit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21904093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: ...or as Tony imaginatively called it, the Pull Up Protocol....and oh he looked pitiful. His face was marbled red-pink with effort, his knees were knocked together tight, he was shaking all over and every now and then made soft noises of upset. “I- I’m so sorry, I- I really need to—I’m trying so hard but-- it won't come out--!Deciding it's time that Peter's suit gets a filter, Mr. Stark has him test it out (which involves one too many glasses of orange juice at lunch, one smoothie from Delmar's after school and one big glass of lemonade from Miss Potts on his way into the Tower.)
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 92





	the P.U.P

**Author's Note:**

> this contains omorashi/pee -- please click back if you don't like it. this is NOT and never will be Starker, Tony is not enjoying any of this, it is a necessary evil on Peter's behalf. Peter just has to pee and Stark is waiting until he does! //shrug//

“M- Mr. Stark?” Peter whimpered, wobbling on his tiptoes and watching as Tony alternated between kneeling in front of him and looking at a monitor nearby. “How long is this going to take?”

“Not much longer, kiddo, I promise...” Tony crooned through his teeth in sympathy, tapping at a monitor. “How are you doing?”

A stupid question, Peter thought to himself, as if the squirming and whimpering didn’t give him away. “Bad, really bad!” He squeaked painfully, groping to grab at his crotch through the thin material of his suit. “I- I had that smoothie at Delmar’s like you said, and Miss Potts made me this big glass of lemonade when I came in”—which was really nice of her—“and now— and now you won’t let me go to the bathroom and I really need one!” He burst, cringing. It was half accusatory and at the same time sounded like he was veering into blubbering— but it was true. Peter had never felt more full in all of his life; and worse somehow was the fact that Tony’s monitors tracked not only everything going in, but everything coming out. Every little leak or sprinkle or tired muscles giving in... Tony saw them all. All of his vitals were splashed up onto every monitor, and every little freed sprinkle made Tony's phone vibrate as it recalibrated his capacity. To make matters even worse, Tony had given it an incredibly embarrassing title. 

The- the pu--

The--

The P.U.P. 

Or as Tony had so imaginatively called it, the Pull Up Protocol. 

(If Peter hadn't needed to pee so badly, he was sure that would've sent him cascading into the most foulest of foul moods; except his bladder had gotten there first.)

“Kiddo, you’re doing great.” Tony promised.  
Tapping on the monitor again he brought up a projection that burst into life right in front of Peter’s eyes. “Look - right here. Do you know what this is?”

Peter looked at the glowing blue orb. It levelled itself with his gaze; he frowned. It didn’t look like much at all - a big bulging mass of blue and light and... stuff. “I- I don’t know.”

Tony zoomed the projection in slightly; Peter could see it was filled with something, all glittery translucent. It made his lower belly feel funny, sort of squirm and clench to know he was that full; he breathed in sharply and clung onto himself.  
“...how about now?” Tony asked, but Peter was too busy bending at the knees to care. He shook his head.

“That, my favourite young adult,” Tony pointed, “is your bladder. A projection of it, at least. If you look really closely...” he pointed again, his finger going right through the projection, “you can see how full it is right now.”

Peter blew out a huffy breath full of teenage attitude and—stood again now, movement helped—shifted on his tiptoes. “I don’t need a projector to tell me how much I have to pee!”  
He glanced at the projection despite himself, and whimpered. “...How full?”

“Nearly there,” Tony nodded encouragingly. “I’d say about three quarters or so full—I know, I know.” He winced, a string of barely-detectable outraged whimpers slipping past Peter’s lips forcing him to lose his train of thought. “I’m sorry, but I can’t make judgments on things like this. Overall capacity yes, but if we want specifics, I need to fine-tune it, say around the ninety six mark.”

“Ninety six?!” Peter stammered. Heat flushed his cheeks and his bladder had a tantrum, quivering under his grip. He wasn’t sure his bladder could even hold on until it got to 96% capacity; he was struggling at 75%. Although, reminded the ache in the backs of his legs, Stark had kept him standing for the last hour; standing and drinking and not really taking his mind off of the task at hand. He took a deep breath and his mouth was all sour, the answer to his question lingering somewhere in the back of his mind. “...do I need to drink any more?”

Tony sighed. The kid sounded like he was going to cry at the thought; if not cry then vomit, and he wasn’t sure he could cope with either. “Maybe half a cup of water more? Kid, please, I- I’m doing this _for_ you, I promise. You don’t want to piss yourself mid-battle, do you?”

Peter snivelled, fate accepted. “Can we do _something_? _Anything_ — standing here thinking about it makes me feel worse.” 

Tony cracked a sympathetic smile; did the kid think he was that merciless? A little thoughtless maybe; but never merciless. “I think a couple of rounds of Mario Kart should take your mind off of it.” He offered kindly.  
Peter smiled a thin smile and shuffled in the direction of the common room.

Settling gingerly onto the couch, Peter crossed his legs with an uncomfortable moan. He had severely underestimated how easy it would be to up and walk around after staying still for so long. Every footstep he took he was hyperaware of his full bladder— that swished and sloshed with him, distending his usually flat tummy, and pushed pee closer and closer to coming out with every step. What should have taken a matter of seconds took considerably longer once he had side stepped and wriggled and jammed his legs together to force back the pee that was crawling its way out.  
When he finally settled, Tony had already set up the console and was stretched out waiting for him, wheel in hand. “…ready?”

“…it hurts.” Peter’s eyebrows crinkled, his hand slipping down to his abdomen and pressing lightly. The spandex of his suit meant he couldn’t get a decent grip on himself to stop the aches and spasms. Jamming his legs together only did so much; pressing down helped a lot but… he wasn’t sure he could drive one handed. And that was without showing himself up as a child in front of Mr. Stark!

Tony said nothing, selecting a race. “C’mon or I’m going to win.” He teased. 

(He gave not one shit about winning; but anything that tapped into Peter’s competitive streak and stopped him from focusing on his bladder for just a little bit longer was worth it.)

Peter frowned and sat up, shifting his bum around on the sofa. Tony could see him thinking it over, bouncing between options, and grunting as he grabbed the controller. “…that’s no fair!”

At first, Peter did well. By the second race he was beginning to rock forward and back on his bottom. He had almost slipped on a banana and lost first place when his mind began to drift back to his full bladder.  
By the third race, rocking only made him hyperaware of the band of pee in his lower abdomen and urged it closer to leaking out, so he stuffed his left hand between his legs to try and stop the leaks.  
By the fourth race, Peter had to drop the controller and stuff his right hand between his legs too; whining uncomfortably as his first-place position rapidly began to fall. Even Stark, who had been enjoying a lazy fifth-place, overtook Peter— and frowned. “…Kid?”  
“I have to pee, I _really_ have to pee, Mr. Stark, please, can I go now?” Peter pleaded, tears edging into his voice as he rose to his knees and continued rocking back and forth. “It’s…”  
Nothing was working! He had started out fine, but now not even his hands were able to hold back his bursting bladder or soothe the pummelling as his tightly-held muscles pleaded to relax. He could feel it all right _there_ , all hot and fluttering and _ready_. “It’s gonna come!”

Tony bit his lip, looking at his phone. 81%. Peter’s levels had risen a couple of percent at least… not as high as he would have needed them, although if Tony was being honest with himself he wasn’t sure he could listen to Peter in such discomfort for much longer - and if he did, Peter’s bladder was going to end things for them regardless. “…alright, kiddo.” His voice was soft and soothing. “Go.”

Peter stilled in disbelief. “You’re sure?” He squirmed around his hands, a scratchy whimper coming from between his teeth. “I can— _Oh_!”

“…Go!” Stark winced, urging the teenager forward. Peter didn’t need to be told twice; scrambling from the couch toward the bathroom with his hands pressed as tightly to his crotch as his suit would allow. He skid to a halt in the bathroom, heart pounding so hard it roared in his ears, and straddled the toilet. A sigh tore itself free— and he hadn’t even started peeing yet. _But.. but he was here, he could go… he could…_  
Sighing shakily, Peter tried to relax his aching muscles and waited—excited and blissful—for his stream to finally begin.  
He waited. Nothing happened.  
He waited a little longer still, and still nothing happened.  
He strained and ‘ngh’ed and bore down on his muscles with a low ‘oohf’ sort of moan, but still the plug was not pulled. Wh— what?! Where was it? He was— he was in the bathroom, he was ready, he could feel pee right there, he was _so desperate_ —but all of his efforts only rewarded him with slippery little drips. Even his pushing did nothing other than remind him of how full he was, the ball of pee within him staying stubbornly hot and heavy where it was. “C- come on…” he whimpered to himself, taking a shaky breath out - but still nothing came. No matter how hard he tried. Whimpering again - babyishly this time, as if he was ready to cry - Peter gingerly tugged at his member through his spandex.  
That was the reason. Deep down somewhere, that was the reason. He could try and try all he wanted but his body told him no, told him he wasn’t desperate enough, told him that only babies pissed themselves, and if he wanted to piss he should have done it properly, without his suit still on. Doing it this way was wrong, all wrong, and he wasn’t going to try. 

He sat there for a few seconds longer, sniffling, knuckling at his eyes. 

Then…

“Mr. Stark?”

~*~*~*~

Tony was still waiting in the common room; aware on some level that Peter was taking longer than he had anticipated to piss, especially considering he had been so desperate. In fact, a quick check of the kiddo’s vitals on Tony’s phone told him that he hadn’t yet released a drop - if anything, they’d gotten just a smidge higher.  
The child’s voice hit his ears and Tony was up off of the sofa in an instant.  
“…Peter?!”

“Mr. Stark!” Peter squirmed, shouting louder. “Mr. Stark!”

~*~*~*~

Stood outside the bathroom Tony pressed his palm against the door and sighed.  
…If somebody had told him this morning that by this afternoon he would have to coax Peter into pissing himself, he would have either laughed or punched them, but here they were and that was exactly what he had to do. Then again, he could hardly blame the kid. It was the first time in at least twelve years he would have willingly wet himself. Tony knew from experience of testing out his own suits how difficult it was to coax yourself into relaxing and soaking yourself like that - hell, it was a battle for him and he had been testing out the filters in his suit for much longer than Peter had. “I’m going to come in, alright? Help you through it.”  
Peter made a noise that could have very well been a noise of discouragement, but Tony chose to ignore it, and opened the door.

…There Peter was sat, in his Spider-Man suit minus the mask and oh he looked pitiful. His face was marbled red-pink with effort, his knees were knocked together tight, he was shaking all over and every now and then made soft noises of upset. “I- I’m so sorry, I- I really need to—I’m trying _so hard_ but... but it won't come out!” He gabbled.  
“Shhh,” Tony tutted sympathetically, kneeling down in front of the boy. If this wasn’t an important part of upgrading his suit, he would have said fuck it all long before now. He patted Peter’s knee, noticing the twitch that told him Peter was holding back a little — he didn’t need his biometrics to know that.  
“Come on, now.” He took a deep breath. “I know it’s hard. Hell, even I find it hard, kiddo. And I know you’re bursting”—an unwelcome reminder, Peter shuddered—“Talk yourself through it, alright? This— this really helps me. Close your eyes and talk it through. You’re not here in the Tower, you’re...” Tony looked around urgently. “...you’ve just gotten home from school, yeah? One too many OJs at lunch and a long bus ride home, but now you’re home and...?”

Peter took a deep breath, whimpering painfully as the warm mass in his bladder shifted and constricted with him. He closed his eyes, feeling the Tower bathroom melt away from him, Tony disappearing from his view, and his apartment surroundings filling his mind. “Now I’m home and— and M- May isn’t here...” May was never home on Thursdays, she worked a few hours extra and God, Peter loved her to bits but he loved it when she was out because every time she was at home she would try and talk to him or ask about his day when all he wanted to do was—the tiniest dribble soaked into the spandex of his suit and his bladder was pounding pleading for more but this was all wrong and—“Mr Stark, I’m—” his hands scrabbled blindly at the spandex trying to peel it away from his skin, whimpers choking up his throat as the illusion melted away and he was catapulted back to what he was doing, bladder full to bursting, how was he ever going to do this?!—“Please, please let me take it off, I’m desperate—!”

Tony shushed him, just the small noise lulling the teen to silence. “I know kiddo, I know...” he whispered, frowning. It ached for him to hear Peter in such pain... and to know it was his fault was like a stab of guilt to the chest. “You’re doing really well. Just this once and you never have to do this again, okay? Come on. May isn’t here, is she? You’re home alone...?”

Peter snivelled wetly, eyes closing tighter. His breath shuddered. “May isn’t here.” He affirmed, nodding shakily. “May isn’t here, w-which is good, because...”  
Shudder. Squirm. Toes bunched up tight. “If she was she’d d-distract me and I’m _bursting_.”  
He laughed a little but it sounded all strained and wild and desperate and terrified of letting go. The tiny dribble in his spandex had turned to a slow constant drip, over and over like a leaky tap - except he couldn’t quite get it to run any heavier.  
Somewhere in the background Tony murmured encouragingly but Peter barely heard it—another shuddering breath in— “S- so I go straight to the bathroom and I can go pee...?”  
In his mind that was exactly where he was, stood trembling and dancing and fighting with the button on his jeans to whip himself out and let go. But he couldn’t stop the questioning tone from flowing into his voice. What exactly Mr. Stark was trying to achieve with this he didn’t know, because it wasn’t working.

Tony nodded, encouragingly still, his phone vibrating gently as Peter continued to drip-trickle-dribble-drip. “Good, that’s it. Come on, you’re getting there, keep talking.” he soothed. 

“I- I’m in the bathroom, and I stand at the toilet, a-and...” Peter murmured, forehead creasing. “And I have to unbuckle my belt and it takes forever...”—dripdribbledribble—“and I get it undone and then I have to f-fight with my button and...” that was the hardest bit, dancing and fighting and having secret shameful dribbles land in his boxers all the while, pulling closer and closer again until it was teetering right at his edge a big hot gorgeous heavy rush— “I’m—I’m nearly there!”—dripdribbledribbledribble—“and the button comes undone and—dribbledribbledribble—“and- _ah_ -and then...” _Then he pulls himself out, then he pulls himself out and all the pee held in tight gushes free, splattering fiercely against the water so hard it makes his knees weaken_ ; but somehow he can’t make his mouth say this, opening and closing, ‘uhh’ing and panting instead. Catching his breath and holding it tight, his voice comes out rasped and alien, “and I—" _and I pee, and I pee, and I, come on Peter!_ — “and I— _ah_!—and I _a-ahitscoming!_ and-and-a- _ahhhhh_ nd—I—!”  
The change in him was instant (near enough magical, Tony thought) - voice softening into a sigh, body slackening, tightness in his muscles disappearing and--best of all--constant dribbling picking up into a nice heavy spray and all Peter could do was lie there on the toilet and pee and pee and _pee_ and make all sorts of funny little whimper noises and gasps he never knew he could make before but he didn’t really care because he was all cloudy and weak with relief—his eyes closed and his mouth opened—and holy _crap_ , he was _peeing_ in his _suit_!

“Theeeeere we go...” Tony murmured, backing slowly out of the room feeling just as relieved as Peter felt. Christ, he never wanted to do that to the kid ever again. It was agony enough to hear him moan in pain - never mind the guilt that punched his gut whenever Peter pleaded and pawed at him to let go. The sound of Peter as blissed-out as ever now he could finally piss was a small mercy.  
There was no sound, no deafening slash of water on water like there should have been—nothing but the vibration of his phone telling him that Peter was finally, totally and utterly, peeing.  
...Then again, he didn’t need his phone to tell him that; he needed nothing but the look on Peter’s face.  
Moving slowly back to the laboratory, Tony kept an eye on the monitors. Peter was voiding his full bladder at an alarming rate, and it didn’t look as if the suit’s filters had leaked or were struggling to cope with his bladder’s measurements.  
Which was great - no, more than great; fantastic - because it meant that he would never have to do this to Peter again until he was a few years older and was able to cope with the sensation a great deal better. 

...which really quite reminded him that he had to upgrade his own suit soon; not only that but he had promised to upgrade Rhodey’s.  
...ah. Maybe it could wait a little longer.

“Mr. Stark? I’m finished. I think it worked.” Peter sniffed, staggering to lean against the doorframe. His face was bright red and his eyes were slightly glassy; the sight of him made that dwindling lightning bolt of guilt within Tony re-emerge strong.

“You did fantastically, kiddo.” Tony soothed, a smile quirking as he grabbed his keys and wallet from the side and stuffed them into his pocket. “C’mon. Get dressed, let’s go to IHOP. You like IHOP?”

Peter nodded so hard Tony thought his head would roll off of his shoulders, beaming and already rushing to peel his suit off and replace it with his jumper and jeans. “Really?!”

“Really.” Tony smiled. Maybe even a surprise new Lego set if they accidentally on purpose stumbled past the store...

After all, Tony quite thought Peter had earned it.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas!
> 
> ...that ending is my favourite ending EVER. I LOVE fics where the person talks themselves through it like that and I thought it would work well with Peter. I wrote the ending first and rushed the actual desperation bit just because I wanted to get it out there :)
> 
> comments and kudos appreciated. treat me, it's christmas! x


End file.
